


Under the sun

by ArtificialWick



Series: Crescent nights [2]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Carlisle is human, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read, Pining, Shapeshifter Esme AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialWick/pseuds/ArtificialWick
Summary: It’s a longing she can not and will never fulfill so, she tries to suppress it. Her heart feels heavier and her bones ache with a strain she can’t rid herself of. Stretching out every muscle in her body doesn’t help, running doesn’t give her the aid it usually does. So now, she stays put. She knows it’s not going to work but right now, that’s okay. She’s too tired to will it to work.
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen
Series: Crescent nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142738
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Under the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohelrond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohelrond/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Carllisle / Ohelrond, this one's for you
> 
> Anyone else, this probably won't make much sense if you have not read the series from the first entry, so may I suggest reading those too? It's a stand-alone but the context is half-necessary. Or just, read the tags :P

It is a quiet morning, one of those rare ones where she does not have to explicitly go anywhere. Well, that is a lie but the groceries can wait another day. She has leftovers from the night before, she’ll be fine. The stretch of her muscles and the dull ache in her bones makes her want to stay inside for the day, something which rarely happens.

Esme doesn’t make it out of bed, resigned to sinking into the mattress beneath her. Her gaze is turned up to the ceiling as she lies on her back, blanket discarded on the floor. She had kicked it off in the middle of the night and had not needed or bothered to get it, much like she hadn’t bothered to close the curtains when she’d turned in for the night. Sunlight is streaming in from the windows on the left side of her bedroom, warming her face as she lies there in nothing but her white nightie.

Breathing in and out she muses on the past months. She’s never felt more loved than this, by anyone, of that she is certain. At the same time she has never felt more alone. It is a longing and a pull inside of her ribcage that she doesn’t understand as well as she would like to. She’s tried running after it, shifting and running where her heart wants her to go, only to end up coming to a messy halt at the realisation she’d run all the way to Carlisle’s house. He’s just a friend, really. There’s no way in Heaven or Hell that he’ll think that way of her. Not with her… condition.

It’s a longing she can not and will never fulfill so, she tries to suppress it. Her heart feels heavier and her bones ache with a strain she can’t rid herself of. Stretching out every muscle in her body doesn’t help, running doesn’t give her the aid it usually does. So now, she stays put. She knows it’s not going to work but right now, that’s okay. She’s too tired to will it to work.

She wants to tell him, she really does. Even though the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach is relentless, she wants to tell him. She doesn’t, but she wants to. There’s an understanding in his eyes, a genuine interest, that she’s never been met with before. There’s two ways of listening to someone. Listening to answer and listening to understand. Carlisle definitely listens like the latter. He doesn’t listen so he can talk over her, he listens so that he may share her conversation and ask earnest, well thought out questions.

He is in no way similar to her ex husband, one might argue that Carlisle and Charles are complete opposites. They are, in every sense of the word different and yet, Esme can not shake the unease that comes with the mere idea of showing Carlisle who she is. Even if he knows of the existence of shape-shifters, he will probably hate her for it.

Subconsciously her hand comes up to the flat plane of her stomach, a thin layer of fabric separating skin from skin. There’s no scar to mark the incident but the pain remains in the form of a pressure that has a tendency to settle against her abdomen. Splitting from Charles had come with a pain she will never be rid of. Sometimes she wonders how it would be to exist without the memory of him, without the turmoil he’s caused her. Sometimes she argues it is best not to forget lest she not remember how the world is against people like herself.

Carlisle is accepting, she likes to think. He certainly hadn’t judged her when she, a woman of age, had sheepishly limped into his office stating that it wasn’t so bad. She’d broken her leg but it was fine. It wasn’t but she’s used to pretending that it is. Her facade had quickly fallen with how he’d treated her.

“So, I suppose you want to ask me what happened to my right leg,” she states more than she asks, used to doctors’ probing questions. He doesn’t answer but does look up at her from his kneeling position beside her, hands gently pressing against a rather sore spot. She is frowning lightly but hiding her discomfort well, he can tell it hurts. 

“I would assume you’ve broken your leg Miss Platt."

It’s such a straightforward answer that it baffles her momentarily before she does crack a smile. He doesn’t ask her how or why and she doesn’t have to come up with a clever lie to hide the fact that she’d been running too fast, had clumsily slipped off a rock and fallen, landing painfully on her hind leg. The trek back into town had not been fun. The accelerated healing kicking in had been even less fun. Knowing her limp had been there to stay if she didn’t deal with the matter quickly she had braced against the kitchen counter and twisted. She doesn’t want to think about the crack that had followed the sharp jolt of pain.

Esme had focused her attention on his hands against her leg as he had set it. He’d had to cast it and while she would only need the cast for an hour or four at the most, she let him work. Minimal chatter had filled the space between them and when she did mention that she’d been out walking in the woods and had tripped, he’d chuckled and told her to be more careful next time.

He had been so kind. Charles would have hated her, would have had her cooped up in their house for weeks following the incident if it had been him. It hadn’t been, she reminds herself, he’d been kinder. Gentler.

“Stop it Esme, you’re being ridiculous-” she mutters to herself, raising her hands to wipe at the tears she hadn’t noticed forming in the corners of her eyes.

She curls her toes and stretches the muscles in her lower legs to ground herself. With a loud huff she swings herself upright in bed and glances out against the harsh sunlight. It’s a nice day out, and for a minute she considers that perhaps she should open up the windows. That would be nice.

Esme steadies herself for a second as she rises, the hardwood of the floor cold but reassuring underneath her bare feet. Sauntering over to the window she releases the latch keeping it shut and pushes it outward so that it stays open. The birds are still singing outside, meaning she hasn’t slept in too long. Reaching for her wine red dressing gown and slips into it, fastening the buttons all the way down.

Walking down the hall she debates stepping into the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb out her curls but she ends up doing neither. Instead she finds herself standing in front of the open door of the guest room. It’s vacant but starting to look more lived in every time she passes it. Carlisle’s vest is hanging over the desk chair at the right end of the room. The bed is made but her well loved copy of ‘women who run with the wolves’ is laying on the pillow, bookmark having moved further down from the last time she’d seen it. 

It’s these little touches of him that make the longing worse but it’s alright. A smile that barely reaches her eyes briefly graces her features before she physically shakes her head, moves to open the room’s window as well and leaves. Trudging down the stairs she debates breakfast, it’s more of a brunch at this hour and the only thing that catches her attention when she checks the pantry is the bright red apple sitting on the top shelf. It’ll suffice.

Standing in her living room, back turned to the cello that she is ignoring on purpose because she hasn’t practiced in a while and is too rusty to brave her morning practices again, she looks out into the backyard. The patch of land where she keeps Blue Vervain needs more attention she notices with a tinge of contempt, it’s been a struggle to keep them upright this year around.

When the kettle whistles she is quick about pouring herself a cup and out of habit she moves into her studio. It’s her favourite room to be in, especially when the sun comes in the way it does now. The light plays brilliantly off of the hundreds of canvasses she keeps, some carrying a painting in process, some still bare and waiting their turn to tell a story.

The canvas resting on the easel is one she hasn’t touched on in a while. It depicts a woman seated in a meadow filled with colourful flowers, facing away from view. Something about it hadn’t felt right and so she had let it be. Though now, her perspective seems to shift. She feels weightless as she drifts through the room gathering shades of red and yellow, setting the half eaten apple and tea down on the windowsill as she goes about.

And so, Esme forgets the time. Brushes caress the canvass as she masterfully guides the colours to where she wants them to go. Painting in the sunset had seemed to be her problem but now, it makes sense to her and the world opens before her as she pours her heart into her work.

Stepping back hours later she’s met with the sight of the same woman sitting in a meadow, covered in an orange glow from the sun setting miles away from her, tall grass hides most of her form. Clouds drift by lazily in the sky and Esme realizes she might have accidentally made one look like a wolf running. She can’t help but hide them in her work, she somehow always does. The children she teaches love it when she shows them to them.

Smiling to herself she knows exactly where the painting is going to go, there’s only one outdated painting in need of a replacement that she keeps on the walls of her home. 

At the end of the day her heart flutters when she looks at it. She’s hung it where the forest scene had once been, above the headboard of the bed in the guest room. It is where this painting belongs, it feels right.

So does having him here, she concludes. She wants him around, sharing her space. He’s come over so many times now, even when she hasn’t asked.

The latter is what makes her pull out her phone, hesitance lost as she types out a rather quick message to him.

_ ‘I’m going out for an evening walk, would you want to join me? I understand if you can’t, I don’t know when your shift finishes.’ _

Waiting on the response feels like the longest ten minutes of her life and during it she manages to put herself together. Her hair is combed out and she’s slipped into a turtleneck and dark jeans by the time her phone pings.

She grins, a simple response that reads _‘I’d love to.’_

**Author's Note:**

> God they're so in love it hurts...  
> Written while listening to and lightly inspired by the song 'Under the sun' by Korpiklaani.
> 
> As always, any comments, kudos and thoughts would be welcome, they motivate greatly! Hope you enjoyed this!  
> My tumblr (that I post my carlesme content on anyhow) is Meluisart, so feel free to hit me up there, drop me a request if it strikes you fancy <3


End file.
